


Georges and the Dragon

by Cinaed



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Temeraire Fusion, Dragons, First Meetings, Gen, Pontmercying, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2127189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Any one who had, at the same time, read military memoirs, biographies, the Moniteur, and the bulletins of the Armée de l'Air, would have been struck by a name which occurs there with tolerable frequency, the name of Georges Pontmercy. When very young, this Georges Pontmercy had become, unexpectedly, the captain of a Grand Chevalier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Georges and the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [simplyirenic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyirenic/gifts).



> For ireny because she thinks up the best AUs.

"I do not have a new book for you, I am afraid," Georges said apologetically to the egg. "My mother has been ill, you see, and so most of my wages went to paying the surgeon." He ignored Alain’s exasperated sigh in favor of opening the second volume of  _Species Plantarum_ to the first page. It was not the latest edition, and the papers had yellowed from the previous owner’s ill-use of it, but the ink was still clear enough. The steam and thick air from the covert’s hot springs would doubtless do the volume no favors, but Georges brushed that concern aside. It was better than standing guard by the egg for eight hours in silence or in conversation with Alain, who constantly complained about how he deserved a dragon over these spoiled, pampered toffs, at any rate. He cleared his throat and began to recite the names of the plants.

After a minute or two of this, Alain shifted restlessly. Without looking up from the volume, Georges knew that the other ensign was scowling at him. “Read something interesting,” came the familiar complaint. Alain had said something similar every day since Georges had been assigned to watching the Grand Chevalier egg six months earlier. “I’m certain that if the dragon could hear you, which we know it can’t, it would tell you to choose a book about, oh, war or dragons or….” Alain struggled for a moment, apparently having used up his supply of interesting subjects. Finally, he muttered, “What dragon would care about  _plants_?” 

Georges looked up at that. He didn't take offense at the last grumbled remark, for there seemed to be no one in the covert who shared his interest in botany, but he knew that Alain would keep up his complaints if he said nothing. “You know my library is small,” he said mildly. “If Moreau would let me borrow his copy of the comte de La Perouse’s writings, I would read that, but he won’t let anyone near it.”

Alain sighed, because he couldn’t argue with that point. Moreau guarded that book as fiercely as dragons protected their captains. Still, he shook his head. “I still don’t know why you read aloud to the egg. Everyone knows dragons can’t hear anything in the shell, even if they  _are_  a week away from hatching, like this one.” His voice changed a little then, turned half-wistful, half-resentful. Georges braced himself for another day of Alain's grumbling against the abundance of third sons of aristocrats, who had chosen captaincy over the priesthood, all these toffs keeping the dragons for themselves.

At least, Georges thought to himself, Lieutenant de la Roche, the man chosen for this Grand Chevalier, seemed decent enough. He remembered Georges and Alain's names whenever he visited the egg, and had inquired after Georges's mother's health last visit. "Can dragons really hear nothing in the shell?" he asked before Alain could begin his diatribe. "But how else do they know French when they hatch? English dragons are not born speaking French, after all...."

Alain stared at him as though this was the first time the thought had occurred to him. "Well," he said, uncertainly. "I suppose--"

Something cracked, dully, and they both jumped. Georges looked towards the stove, knowing even as he did that the sound had not been the wood cracking. His gaze turned towards the egg in disbelief. It rocked slowly, the Grand Chevalier beginning to work its way out of the shell. Another dull crack made Georges flinch. And Doctor Bonnaire had seemed so _certain_  that the egg would hatch in a week or two! Georges scrambled to his feet,  _Species Plantarum_ sliding off his lap and landing with a thud on the ground.

"Fetch Lieutenant de la Roche and the others," he said, for Alain was more fleet-footed than he was, and Alain nodded and ran as the egg rocked again. Tentatively, Georges reached out. The shell was hard and warm against his palm. It shuddered violently at his touch, and he snatched his hand back. Already he could see cracks beginning at the top of the egg. Alarm made him dizzy. What would happen if the Grand Chevalier hatched before Alain could bring de la Roche here? Georges imagined how the covert would handle the loss of a Grand Chevalier, what they would have to do to an unharnessed dragon, and shuddered. Despite the heat of the room, he felt cold with panic. "Wait," he said desperately. "Wait a few minutes more, please."

Perhaps it was his imagination, but the egg seemed to obey, stilling. He realized he was breathing hard, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He prayed that Alain would find the lieutenant quickly. The egg had just resumed quivering when Lieutenant de la Roche burst through the door, his cravat undone and his eyes wide. "Lieutenant," Georges said, or tried to. The title stuck in his throat as the lieutenant brushed past him and knelt in front of the egg. 

Another ensign raced in, struggling under the weight of the bucket of meat de la Roche would use, followed by one of de la Roche's friends with the harness, and last the training master, Captain de Sauvette, who was red-faced and rueful. He looked at the rocking egg and grimaced. "This is the second time the doctor has been wrong in his timing," he remarked dryly to no one. "Perhaps Monsieur Bonnaire should read his books again."

"Yes, monsieur," de la Roche said absently, his gaze fixed upon the egg as another crack appeared on its surface. Wonderingly, he added, "Do they always hatch so quickly?" 

De Sauvette, who captained a Grand Chevalier as well, snorted, but when he spoke, his voice was surprisingly gentle. "It'll seem like the longest and shortest time of your life, my boy." 

Georges kept back in his corner, watching, uncertain of his place. Surely he should leave, but de Sauvette blocked the door. His stomach twisted at de la Roche's awestruck expression, at the sight of those cracks upon the shell widening. For the first time he understood Alain's bitterness. To captain a dragon! To protect France from her enemies! Georges ached for a moment, the longing in his chest so strong that he could not breathe, knowing it was impossible. He might become a first lieutenant someday, perhaps even to this very Grand Chevalier, but a captain? Never. That was for other men with lords and ladies in their lineage. He closed his eyes, only to open them what seemed an instant later as de la Roche gasped, "Here he comes!" 

The hatchling crawled from the remains of the egg, for a moment clumsy, weighed down by its head and tail. It listed to the side and would have fallen, if de la Roche had not learned forward and braced it. The dragon blinked large, dark eyes at him. "Thank you," it said politely, and de la Roche smiled back. The smile faded when the dragon immediately moved away from him. It nosed at the egg fragments curiously and then sneezed, forcefully enough that several of the shards struck the nearby wall. Then it lifted its head, eyeing the men and boys in the room curiously. Georges shivered a little as its dark gaze passed over him. 

"Excuse me," de la Roche said, his voice a little strained. "But are you hungry?"

At the last word, the Grand Chevalier's eyes glowed. "I _am_ hungry," it said, its tongue flicking out as though tasting the word. "Very hungry." It began to make its way determinedly to where the pale-faced ensign stood clutching the meat bucket, and then snorted in surprise as de la Roche stepped in its path. 

"Excuse me," de la Roche said again. He attempted another smile. Sweat beaded his upper lip; his smile seemed more like a grimace. "But it is the custom here that you wear a harness before you eat." 

"A harness?" There was puzzlement in the hatchling's voice. It looked around, blinking, seeming to search for something. "What is a harness? Does it taste good?" 

"No, it isn't for eating. It's this," de la Roche said, and then, a little sharply at his friend, who stared on with equal longing as Georges, "Lavigne, the harness." 

The dragon eyed the harness that Lavigne presented, and its tail twitched. When it spoke again, its tone was still confused. "Why?"

"Well," said de la Roche, and then stopped, looking helplessly at de Sauvette, who only watched with a reserved, unreadable look. After a second, he wetted his lips and repeated, "It's the custom. You must wear it to eat."

"I don't like this custom," announced the Grand Chevalier with a snort. It added, still confused, its tail beginning to twitch in agitation the way a cat's did when it was irritated, "And none of _you_ are wearing one." 

There was quiet. De la Roche's mouth opened, and then closed as he looked once more at de Sauvette.

Georges thought again of what would happen to an unharnessed dragon, even one as desperately needed as a Grand Chevalier, and panic knotted his stomach once more. Even just hatched, its brown-gray scales wet and shiny from the egg's fluid, its head still too large for its body, the dragon was still beautiful. Georges found, much to his own astonishment, saying into the strained silence of the room, "Of course, we are wearing _our_ clothing. You see? We wear coats and shirts and breeches, human clothes. A harness is what dragons wear. We would not eat our meals without our shirts and breeches! And if you will put on the harness Lieutenant de la Roche gives you, he will introduce you to the other dragons once you have eaten, and you will see." He became aware he was babbling now, and flushed, shutting his mouth abruptly and shrinking a little from the dragon's dark, questioning eyes, taking a step back and then another, until his back hit the wall. 

"Very well, I will wear it," the dragon said, and the tension left the room. Then it added, "Only I do not want this de la Roche to give me the harness. Will you put it on me instead? You seem to know a lot about clothes."

Georges stared. All thought fled him. An incredulous laugh strangled him and he thought, stupidly, of his mother, who had patted his hand during his last visit and smiled wanly as she'd whispered, "Imagine, someday my Georges on a dragon! You'll make the finest first lieutenant anyone would wish, my dear, if anyone in the Armée de l'Air has any sense." He tried to speak again, but the words wouldn't come. 

"Are you upset?" the dragon asked, a little anxiously. It took a clumsy step towards him. "I did not--"

"No," Georges said, and then swallowed and said more clearly, "No. I was only, I was only surprised." He still could not think. How did one harness a dragon? He had forgotten everything he'd learned, these past few years. Did he introduce himself and name the dragon first, or did that come afterwards? He found himself bowing and muttering, "My name is Georges Pontmercy, and I am at your service."

"Georges Pontmercy," said the dragon. When Georges straightened, he found the dragon was peering at him once more. "I do not have a name," it said, sounding disappointed. 

"Ah, if you wish, I have a suggestion," Georges said. At the dragon's interested, "What is it?" however, his mind went blank once more. All his Latin or Greek fled him. He could not even remember de Sauvette's dragon's name, something impressive in Latin. He licked his lips and said, "Well, I thought-- would Peony do?" He thought he heard a disbelieving snort from one of the others in the room, but he could not look away from the dragon, not when it leaned back a little on its haunches and looked thoughtful. 

"Peony," it said, and its tongue flicked out again, tasting its name. Very softly, it said, "Peony. Yes, I like that." Louder, it-- Peony-- said, "But I'm hungry, Georges. Can you put the harness on quickly so I may eat?"

"Yes," Georges said, and now the laugh escaped him, turned from astonishment to something loud and joyous. His eyes prickled, and he laughed again. "Yes, my dear. Whatever you wish." 


End file.
